


Of Sound Mind

by EmberGlows



Category: Gravity Falls
Genre: (yep that sounds as pretentious out loud as it does in my head), Bipper, Death - or is it?, Inspired by The Tell-Tale Heart, Other, Read the warnings for this one kids, Violence, poor decisions
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-13
Updated: 2016-05-13
Packaged: 2018-06-08 02:17:49
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,044
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6834979
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/EmberGlows/pseuds/EmberGlows
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sanity is so… debatable. Dipper finds that out, one way or another, and attempts to convince us that he is, in fact, still possessing of that trait. Someone who becomes increasingly important to him assures the kid that he’s sane, and that’s all that matters, right?</p><p>(Inspired by The Tell-Tale Heart, by Edgar Allan Poe. For Mena! <3)</p>
            </blockquote>





	Of Sound Mind

**Author's Note:**

  * For [](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts).



> Content warnings for: Erm…… Lots of things. (You ever read The Tell-Tale Heart? Pretty messed up. Me being inspired by it? Hoo boy. Look out, kids.) There’s self-harm in this, going off of prescribed medication, very creepy actions. Hallucinations, hysteria. Very unhealthy obsessions, very unsafe living practices. There’s insinuations of certain people being dead, but I tried to leave it open-ended, so you can choose your own ending. ;) I apologize (but not really).
> 
> This is a gift for the lovely Mena, who wrote me my own a while ago. I’m sorry it took so long, my dear, I do hope you like it. You deserve all the messed up things! :’)
> 
> So, without further ado: Poe me, bitch.

It’s true, it’s true, I did it. But I had to… I _had_ to. He _made_ me. _He made me do it._

But. Fine, that’s me! Truly, I am. Fine is my middle name. Rhymes well enough with my surname, eh? Ahaha. I’m funny, _too!_ (Three, four, five…)

Forgive me. I’m getting off track. There’s so many thoughts in my head, it’s as though they run away from me to someplace else. But rest assured! I shall continue!

My mind is sound, I’m not crazy, I’m not mad. I’m sane. Isn’t that clear to you? I have full control of my facilities, I make decisions and I chose to do what I did. I chose to do it – he _made_ me do it, but I _chose_ to give in. That’s the kicker. That’s the deal breaker – forgive me, deal maker.

I think it was his eye, you see. That horrible, disgusting eye. It looked like a vulture’s eye, as though he was ready to swoop over me when I was dead and use me for his own gain… Well, I suppose he didn’t wait until I was dead. That’s a small mercy.

That eye haunted my dreams. Though… I should say, that’s not _quite_ accurate. It haunts my nightmares, my daydreams, my fantasies, my surroundings, my entire being. My _everything._ My demon doesn’t wait for me to fall asleep. It’s there all the time.

You ever have something that is your _everything?_ And not in the lovey-dovey, false, newlywed way, but rather in the obsessive, licentious, sadistic, revolting, lecherous, _completely abhorrent_ way? It’s a heady feeling – as exhilarating as it is terrifying. It gives you purpose and insignificance all at once. You are both everything and nothing, running simultaneously back and forth while at a halt and perched still on a pendulum, giving and taking. I’m just along for the ride, on top of a clock – hickory dickory dock! – and waiting to fall off when I get pushed.

He was my sun, and I was my own Icarus, piddling together pathetic wax and feathers I stole in snatches to try and make myself a god. But I forgot – I’m not a god. _He_ is. He is magnificent and opulent and bravura, created of gold, blinding me from the grandness of it all. In my puny _human_ inability to grasp the mighty working mind of a deity, I shut out Daedalus and flew ever onwards, beating my fictitious wings against currents, fingers outstretched for a celestial mass that burns me all the while.

I fell, screaming and streaming towards earth, my plans in ruin around me… but, odd as it seems, I wasn’t afraid. I had a new purpose. A _better_ purpose. A great god, who told me what I must become. And I listened. For once in my life, I heard and heeded.

(…Pretty poetic, eh? _Exactly!_ Crazy people can’t be that poetic. My prose surely proves my sanity. I’m using big words because I still can. I’m fine. I’m proving my sanity here, you see. Proving it _threefold.)_

I guess that makes me a prophet then, my hearing and heeding. I should be _honoured_ that he uses me, that he made me do it… And I suppose I am, deep down inside. But it’s hard to find the honour in my deeds, when I hear its ripples _reverberating_ in my skull… But, as you can see, that proves I’m not mad. I could hear _everything_ from _everywhere,_ and I’ll tell you now, just how healthy my mind is! You’ll hear the story, and you’ll see.

The Mystery Shack was almost empty now, though it had been full a few days ago. My Grunkles and sister had gone on holiday, I told the police. They had left on a boat to go sail the world. ‘Hadn’t you seen them, officers? They flit off all the time. Nothing to be concerned about!’

My god praised me after I had lied and they had left, invisible yet present, a pleasant hum in my mind. So pleasant. So pleasant…

Knocks came in _threes,_ like the beating of some strange ghostly heart. Exactly like that. In fact, I think my own heartbeats go _dum, dum, dum_ , now. Twos are useless. Fours are the worst. But threes? Oh, threes are wonderful. That’s how the knocks sounded, too, when I was living with my family in the house. Nobody else heard them, they said it was creaks in the attic that I had to myself. (Well, not to myself, of course. I see that now!) The knocks used to scare me, but I got used to them. _Dum-dum-dum._ And: _Dum, dum… Dum._ Then: _Dum. Dum. Dum._

Magnificent.

You know what else came in threes? The rest of my family, sharing that house with me. Four total. Two sets of twins, equalling four. It made me sick. _Twos are useless. Fours are the worst,_ I began to realize. _Fours can’t be. Has to be three. Three, always three._

Naturally, my god assured me I was so good in thinking so. It was so pleasant, his praise. Praising pleasantries and pleasuring praises, all for me! All for me, what a thought. Only sane people get attention like that, you see. I’m special. I’m told that I’m special.

I found myself sleeping less and less. It was harder to concentrate. It was _too_ pleasant – I didn’t deserve it. My god was growing restless, it made me reckless. I had to do better. (That was _my_ decision, though. I _chose_ to be better, to be worthy.)

It was three hours past midnight when I would wake up, without fail. When the night was at its darkest and I was at my most weary. I was thirsty one night; I needed water. On the way down, I passed their rooms. I meant to pause, you see. I’m a scientist, I was observing them sleep for science. Sane people do experiments, don’t they? Of course they do. This was mine.

I didn’t get the water. I went back to bed when the sun began to shine.

I confess I felt guilty the next day. I’d watched and watched and watched each person for one hour. _Three_ total. They didn’t notice, they didn’t know or suspect anything, but still. I was weak. I was stupid. My god took pity on me. The next night, I didn’t remember a thing after waking up at three in the morning. I didn’t remember it the night after that, or the one after that, or the one after that, or the one after that, or…

You get the gist. I need not go on.

It was _three_ weeks; I remember ticking off days on my calendar, or else I’d lose track of time. I lost track of a lot of things during those three weeks. I missed a day, and woke up at twilight in a glade. There was a funny little stone statue looking right at me. I’d seen it before. It had one hand. It had three sides. It was crumbling, and I felt sad and prideful and miserable all at once. I cried, I must admit. I’m not too sure why I did, but it felt right.

In fact, a lot of things felt right. That vulture’s eye stared at me in the attic unblinkingly from a window seat. It felt right to talk to it. (I heard my god talk back when I did that.) It felt right to touch it. (I heard my god give me instructions when I did that.) It felt right to obey and touch… other things. (I heard my own self when I did that.)

It felt right to keep watching my family. It felt right to ignore their concerns. It felt right to keep missing pills, and start scratching my arms again.

I scratched in triangles with a knife. They looked pretty. Threes everywhere. Threes all over me. Threes!

I scratched in eyes with my nails once the knife was taken away. One eye per each triangle, but my god assured me ones were fine in this case. I had to agree. Oh, it felt right to agree! It took three lines to make them up, anyway. _Three: top lid, bottom lid, slit. Three._ There were eyes all over me now, watching my family when I couldn’t.

After those three weeks, I suddenly started watching my family again. My god was kind enough to trust me to see. By that point, my god had been inching me closer every night to grunkles and sister. They didn’t notice a thing! It was so gradual!

(My god was so smart. I was so smart. I’m sane, you see. I’m smart.)

Where three weeks before I had stood in doorways, now I stood right over them in their beds. My god could have told me to do anything and I would have done it, I think. It felt right to obey.

And so, one night, I did!

That day, I remember walking to the glade. My god controlled my movements, but I didn’t mind. I could still see everything this time. I was lucky; I was grateful. We walked together past a stream of water. I saw that I was alone, but my eyes looked different. Top lid, bottom lid, slit. My god moved onwards, told me to forget about it. I forgot about it.

Guess what… The statue’s not in the glade anymore. It’s gone! I shook its hand, muttered something funny-sounding. It disappeared. I felt funny when it vanished. I felt good.

There was blood involved. There was worship involved. I didn’t mind. I felt good and good and good. I stayed there three hours, doing all manner of things.

 _Power_ was _addictive,_ it was _amazing._ I felt more powerful after those three hours than I had in my entire pitiful _meatbag_ life. My god took over and I don’t remember what happened next, but that night I woke up and I knew I’d done well.

There were questions. My god had answers. He did the talking. I didn’t mind. I felt good.

_‘Hadn’t you seen them, officers? They flit off all the time. Nothing to be concerned about!’_

(That didn’t sit right with me. I tried to tell them, tried to tell the police before they left that I heard their hearts still. They beat in twos, underneath the earth. I heard them, reverberating through the house. It couldn’t be my own heart; mine beat in threes, now… That was the only time I doubted myself. I tried to take over; I tried to tell them.)

They left. My god was in control.

I felt bad after that. I’d failed my god. I was punished, but he was _kind._ He was _merciful._ He was _benevolent._ I didn’t doubt him again afterwards. He explained I was made for him, for a grander purpose.

 _Icarus. Prophet. My Dipper Pines._ He whispered them all in my mind, my mind that was now his.

His. His. His.

There were three beings living in the house now, and it was as it should be. Me, him, and us. Our own trinity, composed of perfection incarnate, contained in me.

We celebrated and went to work.

He took over to build an invention the world had never seen – one that the world should’ve seen decades ago, but never got the chance to. I was shut out from the proceedings. I forgot days at a time while he worked. I didn’t mind.

I was allowed to praise him when I was given control of myself, if my god ever tired. I chose to exalt him. I worshipped in many ways. I felt good.

It felt _right_ when we were together. It felt best then, when I could see him working through me. I could see what we were accomplishing.

He doesn’t know I’m writing this… I want to surprise him. I want to show him – show _everyone_ who’ll ever read this once I hide it – that I am _sane._ That I am human and god, all in one. That I am slave and master, worshipped and worshipper.

It’s coming. That glorious day. We’ll show the small-minded doubters we were right all along.

I’m _right._

I’m in _control._

I’m _sane._

**Author's Note:**

> So… That’s that. If you’ve survived it, I’m proud of you. <3 Let me know what you think! (And go give Mena some love, too, if you haven’t already) ;) Comments keep me SANE!


End file.
